


messages

by himemiyaa



Series: taz: balance [11]
Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Gen, Prayer, Religion, Self-Doubt, merle does some prayin. some thinkin.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-07
Updated: 2018-03-07
Packaged: 2019-03-28 02:22:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13894212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/himemiyaa/pseuds/himemiyaa
Summary: the prompt for this was merle/pan and treehouse, and i went light on the pan and the treehouses, so, sorry about That,





	messages

Merle left the forest of his childhood long before he joined the Institute. The dormitories there are nothing like the treehouses he used to occupy, aloft far above the mossy forest floor. It suited his people -- they thought themselves above it all. But it never felt right to Merle.

Still, it was easier to feel Pan in the forest. Merle can never tell how much of that is the people and how much is the setting. The people in the forest believed in Pan, every single one of them -- or if they had doubts, Merle certainly never heard about them. Talk like that was… discouraged, to say the least. And certainly, there was more nature there, _wild_ nature, not landscaped the way the Institute’s grounds are. He brings plants in, as many as he can fit on his side of the dorm, but still, things are different.

It’s strange outside of the conclave. The people out here aren’t so devout. Merle has doubts -- he’s always had doubts -- and out here, that’s fine. That’s _normal._ He never knows what to make of that. He likes it, likes feeling normal, but it’s odd.

It’s not that he doesn’t think Pan is real. He knows Pan is real. He’s off in the Celestial Plane with the rest of the gods, probably cavorting or whatever nature gods do in their spare time. What he can’t make his mind up on is whether or not Pan gives a shit. If Pan is there, not just extant but _present_ , shouldn’t things be different?

The conclave, for one. Shouldn’t they have welcomed strangers into their midst to better spread Pan’s word? Done missionary work? Helped the poor? Merle thinks if Pan was listening, he would have seen a lot less poverty during the travels that eventually brought him to the institute, less failing crops, less brutal storms.

And yet, Merle does believe. He remembers being young and chafing in the conclave, frustrated with how insular it all was. He remembers deciding to leave, packing a rucksack, staring into the distant woods excited for what the world might hold. And he remembers that he almost didn’t leave. The night before, with his bag packed, he sat in front of his altar and prayed. He asked a question and expected no answer. Of course, he didn’t get one, not _really_ , but the flowers on his altar swayed in a sudden breeze, and when it passed they seemed perkier than they had.

He left the next morning. He didn’t look back until he was out of the woods entirely.

Now he’s praying again, like he did that night. He doesn’t expect an answer. But the Institute has chosen him for a mission, and Merle is interested but apprehensive. He sits before his altar and thinks hard on his future. Merle Highchurch, going beyond the plane, joining a real crew.

“Pan, buddy,” he starts, scratching the back of his neck, unable to look directly at the altar as if nervous he’ll see Pan staring back at him. “I’m thinkin’ about leaving for a while. Not soon, not like last time, there’s still, you know, they gotta build the boat, but…”

He sneaks a peek at the altar. It hasn’t changed. Merle sighs.

“Look, I don’t know if you’re listening. I _hope_ you are. But… should I do it? Go out there? Leave this all behind?” There’s silence in his room for a long moment before he sighs again. “You know, you’re a real helpful guy,” he grumbles

and then

a breeze.

It blows through his open window and flutters the leaves of his houseplants, and when it passes and they still, they seem to stand a little taller. An ailing pot of lilies Merle stole from Fantasy Home Depot sits in the center of the altar and regains some color in its browning leaves.

Merle raises an eyebrow and adjusts his glasses to inspect them. “Huh,” he says, and looks towards the open window. “Thought I closed that.” He stands and moves to the window to shutter it, but before he does, he looks towards the horizon, where he can see a forest.

“Alright, old buddy,” he says softly. “Maybe I’ll see you out there.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! if you liked it leave me a kudos and/or a comment! also, find me on [tumblr,](traumataako.tumblr.com) where i take ficlet requests and am always down to chat about taz!


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